The glare Jonathan turned on her didn’t seem forgetful at all. He looked fiercer than he ever had, in fact. “I’m fit as a fiddle. Haven’t we got work to do? Look to your part, now.”

He was never so brusque. It startled her so much she couldn’t think up a suitable retort while he stalked back into the house. The kitchen door slammed behind him.

She was shaking a little. How curious. How strange.

Was this the trow? Trows were tricksters, but they weren’t known for luring folk outside to hurt or kill them. They preferred simple mischief, even if it could be destructive.

And when Hæra went to the trow’s mound, yet again he did not appear.

“I don’t have your food today,” she growled at the earth. “I’ll come back with it tonight. Perhaps your hunger will make you willing to answer my questions.”

No reply.

Madeleine, she thought, I’ll ask Madeleine about Jonathan. Madeleine had worked with sick humans when she was a nun, helping all kinds of people. She’d know.

But when Madeleine showed up for the day’s work, and Hæra recounted the incident, she had no ready answer. Instead, she looked troubled. “He didn’t seem to know where he was? That’s not a good sign.”

“I know that.” Hæra dragged a huge hay bale closer to the barn wall. It was taller than she was, and it seemed to take more effort than usual. Her arms ached with the strain. “He said he wouldn’t see a doctor.”

“Has this happened before?”

“Not that I’ve seen. He’s sharp since he stopped drinking.”

“Then maybe it really was sleepwalking. He might have been embarrassed or confused, especially if he’s never done it before.” Madeleine sighed. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”

It sounded reasonable. There was no need to assume the worst.

That didn’t stop Hæra’s skin from prickling for the rest of the morning, nor her head from swiveling at every unexpected sound, nor her heart from racing at odd moments. Something was wrong.

And after lunch, when Connor said, “Forecast says a storm’s building off the coast—might be coming this way,” Hæra knew she was right.

“That’ll be no roostan hoger,” Jim grunted as he hefted a sack of feed. A light rain he meant. “Here’s hoping we’re lucky as usual. Funny how we never get damage like the other farms do. Jon must be touched by the angels,” he added, his voice lighter. “What d’you think, Hæra?”

Hæra and Madeleine made eye contact. Madeleine pursed her lips and looked away. Before Hæra could answer, Madeleine said, “Connor, can you show me how to whistle for the dogs again?”

“Oh, aye, there’s a trick to it…”